accidental 09.5 - interview with an accidental (6 page)

Holding the apple closer, Quinn glared back at him in defiance and brought the gleaming fruit to her mouth, taking a long lick, ignoring the bitter taste of the skin on her tongue.

Hot Stuff planted his hands on his lean hips with a sigh of exasperation and rolled his beautiful eyes. “Now why would you do that, Quinn?”

“Five-second rule. Whoever licks it owns it.”

He waved an admonishing finger, shooting her a teasing, almost playful glance. “No. I think you’re confused. The five-second rule is only in play when you drop food on the ground. It means it’s safe to eat as long as it wasn’t on the ground longer than five seconds. And you forgot to kiss it up to God, thus blessing the five-second rule.
That’s
the five-second rule.”

Confusion furrowed her brow for a moment. Was that the rule? She’d never been very good at those sorts of playground games. While everyone else was jumping double Dutch or playing hopscotch, she’d been too busy making up stories about Jane and Dick running off together into the sunset with Spot as their trusty sidekick.

“I don’t care what the rule is. I licked it. That means it’s mine.”

“This conversation’s a little ridiculous, don’t you think? Please hand over the apple.”

“No. Not until you identify yourself and give me a good reason to hand it over. Otherwise, it goes to the authorities. And where did you come from, anyway? I didn’t see you get off the tour bus. In fact, I didn’t see you anywhere here in the Parthenon…”

His lean cheeks puffed out in a huff of frustration. “On the count of three or I’ll take it from you, Quinn.”

Was he threatening bodily harm? Right here in the Parthenon? She began to back away. “If you touch me, I’ll scream. A lot. Loudly. With vigor!”

His hand snaked out, his fingers wrapping around her wrist, capturing her in a tight grip. The contrast of their skin—hers pale and translucent, his deep and dark—fascinated rather than frightened her. “First, I don’t want to hurt you. Not at all. But I’ll be long gone by the time someone arrives to help you either way.”

She frowned up at him. “Hey. No fair. You said I had until the count of three.”

His grip loosened a little, his handsome face growing deceptively serene. And then he smiled gorgeously, as if in apology for breaking the rules of their game. “My bad. Onetwothree! Hand over the apple, Quinn!” he roared.

With all the strength she had in her, she jerked her wrist, bringing them eye-to-eye. “Not gonna happen.”

He sighed, visibly relaxing. Yet, there was a vein in his sun-browned temple that throbbed, giving away his impatience. “Quinn, Quinn,
Quinn.
Will you make me pry it from your pretty hands?”

Instead of heeding his words, which was certainly the smartest alternative to him roughing her up, she reacted by tightening her grip and shook her head. “Nope.”

By God and Greece, or whatever entity, she was going to get this apple to the proper authorities.

But he tightened his grip, steely and unmoving. “You’re making an enormous mistake, and you’ve been warned. Now, for the very last time, please hand over the apple.”

Maybe it was his tone, all silky-sexy but so demanding, or maybe it was that she felt as if she was in some strange tug-of-war on behalf of Greece and all its lush history, but
the hell
she was giving him the apple.

The. Hell.

May the power of Indiana Jones compel her.

“And I said no!” With that, Quinn yanked with such force, her hand snapped back then forward, nicking the apple with her two front teeth.

Simultaneously, the tall, sexy man roared the word “Nooo!” so loudly her ears literally hurt before letting her wrist go and stumbling backward.

As the juice of the apple hit her tongue, Quinn gagged. For a piece of fruit that looked as if it should have its own display case in Tiffany’s, it was unbearably bitter, the juice running down the back of her throat like a trail of battery acid.

She ran her teeth over her tongue in a scraping motion. “Gak,” she spat, letting the remainder of the apple fall to the ground, where it trembled eerily then came to rest at her right heel.

His sigh of aggravation made the ground beneath her feet rumble and a warm wind stir to a frenzy. It whipped around her head, leaving behind the minty scent of his breath in her nostrils.

Which, if she wasn’t in some horrible nightmare, was impossible, wasn’t it?

“You’ve done it now, Quinn.” His tone rang with warning as he took another step back and crossed his arms over his chest.

She opened her mouth and made a clucking noise from the back of her throat to rid herself of the taste then wiped her knuckles over her tongue in repulsion, reaching into her bag for her bottle of water. “Tahth’s disgussing,” she said around her fingers.

His nod was sharp and all-knowing. “I’d bet it is, knowing my mother. But give this a second or two and you’ll see what you’ve done.”

Quinn pulled her fingers from her lips. His mother? “Your mother? And what exactly did I do but graze an apple that tastes like a Jersey landfill with my teeth?”

He glanced at his shiny gold watch with one raven eyebrow raised. “You’ll see in five, four, three, two, one.”

What was it with him and the counting?

But then Quinn’s body jolted forward, making her drop the water bottle as the earth began to crack beneath her and the skies darkened to a deep purple. She broadened her stance, leaning back against the stranger, who’d swiftly moved to stand behind her, tucking her into the shelter of his rock-hard chest.

And for about a half second, his chest was a very nice place to end up sheltered by—except for the fact that he was a traitorous, likely black-market dealer of stolen and exotic goods.

But she forgot all about that when images flashed in front of her eyes in a tornado-like funnel of Greek gods and goddesses sitting on thrones, shooting arrows and, oh my…Doing things she assumed only happened in the movies they ran on Cinemax in the wee hours of the morning.

And then there was silence—deafening and frighteningly still.

Dazed, Quinn’s hand went to her head to push back the wild tangle of her tattered braid from her eyes just as her chest heaved and her legs buckled, making her fall forward.

Vibrations of warmth skirted her spine, slipping along every available surface of her skin.

Fear turned to panic when she began to experience a simmering heat on her flesh worse than the hottest fever she’d ever had. It came in waves, rushing and relenting, bending and twisting until it finally subsided, leaving behind a residual warmth she had no words for.

As Quinn fought to gather her senses, the man let her go and paced before her in short jaunts, the heels of his loafers scraping against the loose stones.

He stopped to stand in front of her. His glare was angry, his sharply angled face tight. “Did I or did I not say the apple was mine?”

Once more, her mouth fell open. Words eluded her. Fully formed thoughts, too.

“And now look. Do you see what’s happened here, Quinn?” He grated out the question between clenched teeth.

“Wha…”

He shook his long finger at her. “Oh, I’ll tell you what. You’ve gone and done it now. Really done the hell out of it. I bet you’re wondering what exactly you’ve done the hell out of, aren’t you?”

Out of nowhere, Ingrid flew into her line of vision, skidding to a halt in front of her, eyes bulging when she scanned Quinn’s face. Her mouth formed an O then her jaw fell before snapping shut. “What in the ever-lovin’ fuck?”

Quinn’s gaze flew to the stranger’s before latching onto Ingrid’s, wide with surprise, in a plea for help.

“Oh. My. Hell!” Ingrid shouted, pulling at her backpack to dig out a compact with the name Bobbie-Sue on it and flipping it open. “Look!”

Quinn blinked at her reflection under the hot sun. Her hands flew to her eyes. Wow. If in the choosing, she would have had any say in her eye color upon birth, this amazing shade of bright, swirly purple would have been high on her list.

Much higher than her own dull, mousy brown. And they weren’t just purple—they were purple with a capital P. As though someone had popped contacts from some Halloween costume store directly into her sockets.

“What did you do since I left you, Quinn?” Ingrid fairly seethed.

“I…” What had she done?

The man sauntered up to Ingrid, his bronzed arms crossed over his chest. “Here’s what she’s done. She’s—”

But Ingrid halted his explanation by backing up, pushing Quinn behind her and reaching into her pocket for her cell. “Who the hell are you?” she spat, yanking her phone out and flipping open the keyboard. She began to type without letting the man out of her sight. Her fingers flew as she eyeballed him with a fierce stare.

“I’m Khristos with a K, for future reference—a descendant of Aphrodite and the man who’s apple your friend Quinn here stole.” He bowed regally at the waist before rising and glaring his obvious displeasure at Quinn.

Ingrid’s head whipped over her shoulder. “You stole his apple? Wait. It was
his
apple that fell out of the pillar? An apple did all this?” She swished her finger around the vicinity of Quinn’s breasts.

Khristos nodded, curt and clearly attempting to keep his anger in check. “It was definitely the apple that did,” he swept his hand up and down, “this.”

When Quinn finally found her voice, it was raspy and thick. “What is
this
?” She plucked at her shirt in disbelief. “Is the apple really why my…my—”

“Her cans are the size of life rafts? Are you serious?”

Khristos chuckled fondly. “The gods, in all their antiquated, outdated beliefs, thought only women with,” he cleared his throat, “um,
fuller
figures appealed to men. I’ve tried and tried to convince them to jump into the year 2015 with me, but old habits die hard. We’re still working on diversity and all sorts of sensitivity training when it comes to body shaming. That’s a real bone of contention with me. My motto is, all women should be loved, no matter their size or shape.”

The gods?

Ingrid nodded her head with a rapid motion as though she understood diversity truly was important. Then she shook it off and glared at Khristos. “Okay, buddy, what the hell is happening here? And I warn you—I know people who’ll beat the information out of you if you’re not willing to give it up.”

He shook his dark head of thick hair. “You’ll never believe it.”

Ingrid snorted a scathing grunt. “Hah! I’ve only heard that a million times in the past couple of years. Try me, pal.”

“You’ve never heard anything like this,” he assured her in silken tones.

“Don’t tell me what I have and haven’t heard, Chiseled Man. In fact, I’d lay bets
you’d
never believe what
I’ve
heard. So get on with it, and while you’re at it, step off!” She waved a hand between them, shooing Khristos away.

Ingrid turned her gaze back to Quinn and gripped her arm before she returned her gaze to Khristos. “Okay, so let’s get it on here. Out with the explanation. What does this apple have to do with my friend and her sparkly bits, glowing like a diamond in a display case?”

“Well, had your friend left the apple be as I’d asked, those charming traits would have disappeared. They’re simply a product of touching the apple and they fade rather quickly, given a day or so.”

Quinn breathed a sigh of relief. Okay, so no big Shawna Sutter boobs forever?
Phew.
Because hell on fire, big, big boobies were more work than she was cut out for.

“But alas…” he said with a forlorn, almost comical sigh.

Her antennae went up. Oh, sure. Of course there was an “alas”…an “aside”…a “by the way, your stupid, stubborn friend is a halfwit who just wouldn’t listen”.

“Alas?” Ingrid asked with a demanding tone.

Quinn held her breath.

He gazed at each woman, driving his hands into his pockets and rocking back on the heels of his casual loafers. “Alas, she broke the skin of the apple with her teeth when we struggled for control.”

Ingrid’s eyes narrowed and her stance widened. “And that means what, Hard Body?”

Oh, damn. Now he was making that frowny face. That meant bad—so, so bad.

“The explanation’s simple. Your friend now has the powers of Aphrodite.”

“The goddess of love and beauty?” Quinn managed to squeak.

Khristos winked an arrogant eye. “And all that entails. Clearly, that entails a healthy glow. Know what else it means?”

Ingrid rounded on him, skirting his body in dodgy circles. “Okay, spit it out. What does it mean, Khristos with a K, descendant of Aphrodite?” she asked with a tone of defiant skepticism, leading Quinn to think Ingrid didn’t entirely believe him.

But was there any denying what had happened to her?

He planted a deliciously tanned hand on Ingrid’s shoulder to prevent her from continuing her dizzying circles. “It means Quinn and I are going to be spending a lot of time together. Do you know why that is, quick-footed one?” he asked, sarcasm lacing his words.

Quinn watched while Ingrid tried to hide her alarm behind the Nina technique. The show-no-fear, take-no-prisoners technique. Ingrid jutted her chin upward and sneered, “Why is that?”

“Because that apple is my curse, and now, because your friend not only refused to return it, but she bit into it, it’s
hers
, too. So that means wherever she goes,
I
go. I am the keeper of the apple and all its power.”

Quinn’s mouth fell open.

This big hunk of a Greek man, with all his ripples of muscle and silky hair straight out of a shampoo commercial, had to go everywhere she went?

Shut up.

It was like hitting the romance Powerball.

If she were still a believer in romance, that is.

Which she was not.

Not, not, not.

But the old Quinn?

She’d find that totally swoon-worthy.

(Stay tuned for more in
Accidentally Aphrodite
—coming soon!)

Author’s Note

If you enjoyed reading
Interview With an Accidental
, I’d so appreciate it if you’d help others enjoy this book, too.